


fated collisions and chance encounters

by punklikeadaisy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Post Timeskip, Slow Burn, pre timeskip, soulmates au if you squint, well more like medium angst + medium burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26080798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punklikeadaisy/pseuds/punklikeadaisy
Summary: From the youth training camp to the black jackals to the national team, Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi have been orbiting each other their entire lives waiting to collide.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 100





	fated collisions and chance encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic so plz be gentle.  
> Thank you to Nida for betaing and always supporting me, I adore you.
> 
> The first chapter is pretime skip and the second will be post timeskip! Enjoy!

The sound of volleyball shoes squeaking loudly against the floor echoes in Atsumu’s ears. All around him are the nation’s best of the best. Everyone is there because their desire to be the best drives them forward with more strength than the burn in their legs could ever hold them back. They’re monsters, every single one of them. He’s never been happier. Well, one thing could make him happier.

“Oi! Omi-Omi ya could look a little bit more enthusiastic ya know. There’s nothin’ like my sets and ya look like I tossed ya a dead rat,” he grins at the Omi Omi in question. 

A few feet away Sakusa Kiyoomi, one of the nation’s top 3 aces scowls at him with enough ferocity to make a lesser man back down. Atsumu is a fool but he’s no coward.

“I’ll spike your toss properly when that disaster you call a hair colour stops distracting me from 6 feet away, Miya. And don’t call me that,” Sakusa replies tersely. 

“Aw Omi-Omi are ya saying ya find me distractin,’” he flutters his lashes in an exaggerated attempt to look coy. "If ya find me that handsome ya should’ve said something!”

“Nothing manages to puncture that massive ego of yours Miya." Sakusa sniffs disdainfully, eyeing Atsumu like he's a piece of day old road kill. 

"Your twin however” he looks off to the side, lips pursed in a thoughtful expression “Osamu was it? There’s a handsome man if I’ve ever seen one.”

Atsumu, as he always does at the mention of his twin, throws a hissy fit. He splutters and stomps in a fit of unintelligible grunting, his accent growing even stronger in his rage.

“‘SAMU?” We hav’ tha same face Omi-Omi! And why is he ‘Samu and I’m Miya? That rat bastard has been a pain in my ass since we ‘ere in the WOMB! My parents won’t tell us who the older one but I know it’s me I jus’ know it!” he whines. 

Sakusa shrugs lightly and fixes him with a mild look.

To the untrained eye his expression is neutral to the extremest degree, a feat that shouldn’t be possible but this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. Between his tall cheekbones, strong jawline and ever present look of mild distaste he may as well have been a marble statue. 

Atsumu made it his mission to break that stony expression at least once during the camp.

He’s spent a lifetime testing ways to get a rise out of someone on Osamu. He’d perfected the art until he met Sakusa Kiyoomi. Much to his frustration, all he’s managed to get is a slightly more intense look of disgust. 

He’s been studying Sakusa all week, glued to his side. He knows this expression holds the barest hint of amusement and a whole lot of smugness. 

A whistle blows behind them to signal the end of practice.

Sakusa turns away to begin collecting the balls that have scattered around the massive gymnasium. Atsumu racks his brain for a clever final word to this disastrous exchange. 

“Samu has worse hair than me!” he blurts out.

Sakusa doesn’t even turn around, but he hears a light snort. Atsumu makes a mental note to murder Osamu when he gets home.

**

In a little town, several prefectures over, Osamu feels the back of his neck prickle. He turns to look at Suna Rintarou 

“Remind me to piss off ‘Tsumu when he gets home.”

Suna, long used to the twins' antics, doesn't even bat an eye. He hums slightly in affirmation and goes back to his problem set. 

**

Atsumu stretches out his long legs under the dinner table and bangs his knees on the underside of it. He lets out a hiss of pain and glares at the offending inanimate object to curse it, the seven generations of its descendants and every other piece of furniture in the room.

Across the table from him Hoshiumi Korai, little giant extraordinaire, lets out a loud cackle. “Serves you right you bean pole.”

Atsumu makes a mental note to add Hoshiumi to his hit list as well. 

The energy in the dining hall is relaxed and buzzing with quiet conversation, the last day of the camp making everyone lethargic.

Sakusa Kiyoomi however is marching with a determined expression towards an unsuspecting Kageyama Tobio.

Atsumu perks up, always eager to see an incident play out. With a speed only a setter can accomplish he begins brainstorming ways to contribute to Sakusa’s issues with Kageyama’s setting.

Osamu calls him an instigator. He prefers to think of himself as an opportunist. 

“Why did Shiratorizowa lose? Was Wakatoshi-san not at his best?” demands Sakusa, looking as close to agitated as a man who never has an expression can be. 

Atsumu exchanges a surprised look with Hoshiumi over this strange inquiry but birds of a feather flock together as they say, and Kageyama doesn’t seem to find this inquiry out of place at all.

Kageyama chews his broccoli thoughtfully and considers the question. He answers calmly, expression devoid of any the confusion the rest of the dining hall is experiencing.

Komori sensing a disturbance in the area, in a way that only someone who clearly knows Sakusa’s habits could, speeds over to the table and diffuses the tense situation with an apologetic smile. 

“Kiyoomi, it wouldn’t kill you to show a little more tact,” chastises Komori lightly as they walk away. 

Sakusa’s only response is a grunt as he heads in the direction of the baths. 

“Weirdos, all of em” mutters Atsumu.

*

Atsumu yawns, already regretting staying up with Hoshiumi as the soft early morning light filters into the hotel lobby. The damn loud ball of energy.

He mentally calculates what time he’ll get home to Hyogo, eager to sleep in his own bed. Realizing that no matter what time he leaves he’ll still arrive at ass o’clock he continues to scroll aimlessly through his phone as the desire to murder Osamu wars with the dread of spending a long day switching trains. 

A splash of obnoxiously bright yellow flashes in his peripheral vision and he perks up at the prospect of annoying one Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Atsumu, the benevolent soul, believes in sharing. This includes bad morning starts. 

“Omi-kun!” he calls across the lobby, waving his hand to get his attention. 

Despite the majority of his face being covered by a face mask there is no mistaking the scowling expression that instantly appears on the wing spiker’s face.

Sakusa gestures to the headphones over his ears and makes no response. 

“I can see yer headphones aren’t plugged into anythin’ Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa still makes no response but stops a few steps from Atsumu and fixes him with the same flat expression he always wears.

“I need them to muffle your voice this early in the morning.” 

“What’cha doing up so early Omi-Omi? Itachiyama’s in Tokyo ain’t it?” asks Atsumu, undeterred by Sakusa’s prickly response. 

“My parents are picking me up before they go to work,” says Sakusa without inflection. 

Atsumu plows forward, unsure exactly what he seeks to accomplish, but sure he’ll know it when he sees it.

“Ah ya city boys and yer ritzy lifestyles. Hyogo’s much quieter, I mean ‘Samu’s there and whenever were within half a meter of each other we’re probably louder than any Tokyo traffic but I wouldn’t trade it for anythin’.”

“Of all the people they could send to the youth camp couldn't they have sent someone quieter for my sake,” grumbles Sakusa. 

Atsumu sees his opening and cracks it open with full force.

“I’d betcha much prefer if they’d invite more of the quieter types, maybe Ushiwaka,” he says schooling his expression into a poor semblance of youthful innocence. 

“Don’t call him that. He’s our senior, it’s disrespectful,” snaps Sakusa, the skin above his mask flushing a rather pretty shade of red, all the way up to the tips of his ears.

 _Cute_ Atsumu thinks briefly.

Understanding dawns on Atsumu. His body thrums with excitement, his mind moving a mile a minute to discover the best way to press his advantage.

Sakusa looks down at his phone and cuts him off before Atsumu’s sharp tongue can do any damage “My parents are here. I’ll see you at Nationals Miya.”

He hurries away, “of all the people I had to meet” grumbled under his breath.

Atsumu, in a much better mood now that the score has been evened, locks his phone. He starts his journey towards the nearest train station, his mind already brainstorming new ways to torment Osamu when he gets home.

***

They do see each other at Nationals. Their eyes meet briefly across the room, mirror images of pain reflected in their expressions. The guilt of cutting their upperclassmen’s summer short weighs too heavily on them. They don’t speak.

***

Spring means new beginnings. Spring means turning over a new leaf. Spring means leaving the past behind and starting anew. Or, at least it should.

Atsumu should leave his nasty streak behind during his final year of high school. He should show some maturity as the captain. He should pay homage to Kita-san and try to be a respectful successor.

But if Atsumu did what he was supposed to do he wouldn’t be Atsumu.

He hurries down a narrow street in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, eager to get a cup of coffee to warm his hands from the early April air. Tokyo is an unfamiliar and cold city.

Atsumu is only familiar with the route from the train station to the gymnasium where Nationals are hosted. Even then, he mostly relied on the upperclassmen to take the lead.

He shakes his head, realizing with a start he is the upperclassmen now, expected to lead everyone else.

His teeth clatter as he is bumped by another commuter in too much of a rush to get somewhere in too little time. He grits his teeth and directs dark thoughts toward Suna Rintarou for being the reason he is here in this hellish city.

Atsumu conveniently forgets Suna is generously hosting the reunion for the rowdy Inarizaki seniors and alum at his family’s house in Tokyo before their final school year starts.

Selective memory is his strong suit. 

Finally, the little blue dot he has been following on his phone indicates he has arrived at his destination. He looks around and spots a quaint coffee shop nestled between 2 brick buildings.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief and a soft chime jingles as he enters the coffee shop. He breathes deeply, enjoying the smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh baked pastries. 

The pretty girl behind the counter straightens immediately at the sight of Atsumu in the door “What can I help you with today?” she says, all bright eyes and long lashes. 

Atsumu preens slightly at the attention. Puberty had been kind to him and Osamu.

 _Especially kind ta me,_ he thinks smugly.

He’s used to girls fawning over him and his ego appreciates it tenfold. Once they get to know his personality, though, it’s a different story. A story he chooses to ignore. 

He flashes her a grin, all teeth and charm “I don’t need anythin’ now that I’ve seen you.”

The girl flushes under the weight of his full attention. “But if we’re talkin’ coffee a caramel latte as sweet as you darlin’,” he punctuates his sentence with a wink and slides some coins across the counter. 

A loud snort from the other side of the bar draws his attention. Atsumu turns to find the source of the noise, his eyes widen when they spot the owner.

“Omi-Omi!” he grins. His disdain for Tokyo is erased instantly, after all it brought him the opportunity to annoy the stony look off Sakusa’s face once again.

He rushes to the end of the bar top, new target in his sights. He completely misses the way the pretty girl behind the counter’s face sours as he leaves. 

“Thank you for your business,” she mutters darkly, turning to start the drinks. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Sakusa mutters at the ceiling.

His surgical mask is nowhere to be seen for once. Even Sakusa Kiyoomi cannot drink coffee with a mask on, no matter how hard he tries.

“Do those lines really work for you Miya?” 

Atsumu merely grins. Nothing lifts his mood faster than pissing someone off and pissing off Sakusa Kiyoomi brings him a special kind of joy. 

“They work when I need ‘em to Omi-kun. I can try out a few more on you and see where it takes us,” Atsumu says grinning. 

Sakusa gives him the same flat stare he always does, unimpressed. Like if the earth ended at that very second he would not mind.

The flowers on the counter look like they would be more receptive to his flirting than Sakusa. They’re already a light shade of pink, the same pretty shade of pink Sakusa had been during their last encounter. 

“I would rather listen to Motoya play every bass boosted Brittney Spears song he keeps in the dumpster fire he calls a music library,” says Sakusa without looking up from his phone. 

Atsumu grins, unperturbed. He spent the better part of a week studying Sakusa’s facial expression at the All Japan Youth camp. He doesn’t miss the slight eye twitch that gives away Sakusa’s annoyance.

Atsumu pauses for a moment to observe Sakusa’s hunched form. It’s the first time he’s seen Sakusa in street clothes.

Even with his terrible posture, the long lines of his legs are evident in his fitted pair of black jeans. The narrow taper of his waist is hidden by a long camel coloured jacket. His unruly curls and black turtleneck make him blend in perfectly to the upscale Tokyo coffeeshop.

 _A classic pampered, pretty city boy._ Thinks Atsumu disdainfully. 

Atsumu opens his mouth, not sure what he’s going to say but he knows his brain will supply him with something sufficiently irritating, when he hears his order being called. He grabs his coffee and savours the rich aroma wafting towards him.

“Funny how I ordered second but got my coffee first Omi-kun must be my charm and good looks”. He takes a sip of his coffee, excited for his first hit of sugar and caffeine of the day and promptly spits it out.

“What is this?” He whines as the bitter taste of black coffee floods his senses. He takes a napkin and starts wiping at his tongue urgently. “What kinda maniac drinks plain black coffee? This is disgustin’, psychopathic, they’ll be hearin’ from my lawyers.” 

He whips around when he hears the sound of an odd noise, like the owner is being lightly strangled. In front of him Sakusa Kiyoomi is laughing. Hand covering his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter.

The action looks like it is unfamiliar to the owner himself but the crinkled lines at the corner of Sakusa’s eyes make Atsumu want to hear that noise again. And again and again. 

“I drink black coffee,” wheezes Sakusa, once he’s collected himself “—one cup a day is good for you. It’s the sugar and the milk that are bad for your health.”

“Now I see where you get your personality from,” mutters Atsumu darkly. 

The barista from earlier cringes “Sorry sir, I mixed up your coffees. This one’s yours.” She hands Atsumu an identical cup. He takes a tentative sip and lets out a hum of approval.

“This one must be yours then Omi-Omi” he places the other cup on the counter in front of him.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out to see 79 unread messages from the Inarizaki group chat asking where he is and lets out a yelp.

“Kita-san’s gonna kill me” he groans, already rushing towards the door.

“Miya you know I can’t drink this now” Sakusa yells after him, fuming. Sakusa and his love of cleanliness and hygiene would never want to sip from the same cup as him.

“I’ll make it up to ya some other time Omi-Omi!”

*

The pretty barista studies the remaining man left in the coffeeshop. She flashes him a smile “I can remake that for you sir. Is there anything else I can get you?”.

The remaining man gives her a glare and a terse jerk of his head in negation.

“Men.” she grumbles to herself, throwing away the unwanted coffee with just a bit more force than necessary.

***

The air is heavy with humidity. Atsumu glares up towards the sky as if the sun had personally wronged him.

Summer is probably great for city folk and their air conditioning but in Hyogo where he and Osamu take timed 5 minute shifts sitting in front of their household’s only fan, it is hellish. 

“‘Samu —” he whines, but his twin has spent a lifetime with him and knows his tricks. 

“Shut up ‘Tsumu, I know yer brain dead but even you can count to 5.”

“I’ll do anythin’ you want,” he pleads. His skin is slowly melting off and his twin won’t even turn to look at him. “Yer laundry for a week.” 

“You smell like shit all the time, no thanks.”

“I’ll cook whenever you want!” 

Osamu turns around for this. To fix him with a deadpan stare that could give Sakusa Kiyoomi a run for his money. “Pass.”

He’s desperate now, his bones are starting to turn to goo. He begins to panic. His insides are supposed to be squishy but not that squishy. “My car for a week,” he blurts finally.

Car is a generous title. It’s got 4 wheels. It gets him from point A to point B with minimal threats to his and his passengers’ lives. It’s his pride and joy.

He ran himself into the ground between school, volleyball practice and part time jobs but the freedom that came with his car was worth it. Rubbing it in Osamu’s face was a secondary but fruitful perk. He begins to regret this now. 

Osamu smiles like he’s been waiting for this offer all along.

 _That rat bastard,_ thinks Atsumu viciously.

“Deal ‘Tsumu. Where are yer keys?”

“Yer gonna use it already?” he yelps “Where in the heck are ya goin’”

“Where else,” calls Osamu, already moving towards the door, Atsumu’s spare keys in hand “Sunarin’s house. His family’s got air conditioning.”

The door slams shut before he can even say goodbye.

As the sole user of the fan, house to himself, Atsumu can’t help but feel that for once he’s won. He closes his eyes and finally enjoys the sad facsimile of a bearable temperature.

His eyes fly open when the realization that his missing spare keys had been in Osamu's possession all along.

“SAMU I’M GOING TA KILL YA” 

*

The sun mercifully sets and with the arrival of nightfall the world finally turns to a bearable temperature.

Atsumu trudges down the same dirt path he and Osamu have walked since they were children. More sticky fingers clutching 50 yen coins than people. Bickering loudly enough to disturb every person in a 20 meter radius over the best flavour of popsicle. Atsumu still does not understand how Osamu can stand to eat the grape flavoured ones. 

He hasn’t walked this path in a long time. It’s only a 20 minute walk from his childhood home. He may be an athlete but he is also a teenage boy with a method of transportation.

He and Osamu usually drive down now, but the bickering hasn’t changed at all. It’s a little lonely to walk the path he and his twin have always walked side by side down, alone in the dark. 

He rounds the final corner and sees the fluorescent lighting of the convenience store. His mind occupied with childhood memories and too much sugar that he almost misses the familiar silhouette standing in front of the store.

He swipes a hand over his eyes to make sure he isn’t hallucinating that mass of curly black hair in front him. 

“Omi-Omi?” he asks tentatively.

He wracks his brain for a plausible reason why Sakusa Kiyoomi would be in his hometown at 11pm on a Tuesday night. 

The figure in front of him turns around. He can’t make out the stranger’s face in the darkness. The glaring light from the convenience store behind him makes the neon green shirt glow slightly and casts his face in shadows. 

“I must’ve done something very wrong in a past life.”

He’d recognize that tone anywhere. All thoughts of Osamu and Suna and falling behind and being replaced eject themselves from his mind. Sakusa Kiyoomi is standing right in front of him and he’d be a fool to waste this opportunity.

“I think ya must’ve done somethin’ pretty right Omi-Omi,” he grins, all teeth and canines.

He waits a beat to hear Sakusa say something cutting in that flat voice of his. The comfortable back and forth they always fall into. It’s easy. 

His body comes alive in the humid night air.

Hyogo holds some of his worst memories. Old days where his only friend was Osamu and even he sometimes looked like he’d had enough of Atsumu. Old girlfriends shaking their heads, disappointment obvious that he wasn’t what they had expected.

All of those fade away on this warm summer night. Hyogo might be his favourite prefecture after all. 

He realizes the retort never comes. Sakusa is still standing silently in front of him.

Atsumu squints trying to make out the details of Sakusa’s dark form. His hands are balled in fists by his sides, shoulders raised with tension. Atsumu scans downwards and notices Sakusa isn’t even wearing shoes, just a pair of flimsy house slippers.

Atsumu’s eyes finally adjust to the darkness and take in Sakusa’s expression. He looks anxious, uncomfortable, like if he breathes too hard he might turn into nothing.

He looks vulnerable, Atsumu realizes.

“Omi, what’re you doin’ in Hyogo?'' he asks carefully.

Sakusa still looks like a deer in the headlights and says nothing.

It’s a hollow echo of their usual comfortable silence: Sakusa fixing him with that blank stare, Atsumu grinning at him with his smug smile. The same smug smile Osamu has punched him in the face for more than once. 

He weighs his words carefully “Are you okay?”

Sakusa twitches at this one. Atsumu is heralded by his teammates as the worst communicator they’ve ever met but he knows a no when he sees one.

He’s known far and wide for casual cruelty but even he can’t casually slide past this.

Atsumu shifts in discomfort, unused to helping someone in emotional distress rather than being the one to cause it. Osamu is the better twin when it comes to being a comforting presence. Atsumu is the twin that pretends the issue doesn’t exist, leaving it for someone else.

Kita-san never had a day off as captain with him on the team. 

Unsure what to do, he does what he knows best: says something stupid.

“Well of course yer not okay! How could ya be when the most handsome man in Hyogo is standin’ right in front of ya and you look like a pack of green highlighters threw up on yer shirt?”

He cringes as the words leave his mouth. There were infinite combinations of suitable words for this situation. He could have chosen any of them. He knows this was not one of them.

Curse the Japanese language.

To his shock he hears a light snort. Sakusa has snorted. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly. “I told you Miya, your twin’s much more handsome than you.” 

Atsumu struggles to not gape at him. This was not the reaction he had expected at all, but regardless he plows on, letting his mouth supply whatever it wants without his brain providing any input.

“Omiiiii,” he whines “‘Samu is so much worse than me and ya haven’t even MET him. His personality is even nastier than mine I swear” 

“If that were true I’d call every press outlet in Japan, a true medical marvel.”

Atsumu internally sighs in relief. This is familiar, comfortable.

“Omi-Omi what’re ya doin’ standin around let’s get ya somethin’ to...” he trails off.

He studies the convenience store. The store doesn’t have an automatic sliding door. He glances back at Sakusa and notices the pyjama bottoms he’s wearing have no pockets.

Sakusa Kiyoomi has always been difficult to read but slowly he feels like a small piece of the puzzle shows itself.

“You can’t open the door can ya?”

Sakusa averts his eye and doesn’t answer. The silence stretches on. 

“I usually have it under control, but it gets worse when I’m stressed. I left my disinfectant at my sister’s house.” he says without making eye contact. His head is down and he is wringing his long, slender fingers in front of him. It’s an unusual display of vulnerability. 

Something claws at Atsumu's chest. He hates this Sakusa in front of him. He wants to see the Sakusa with his quiet shows of dedication. He wants to see the almost imperceptible change in his expression when he makes a good spike off Atsumu’s sets, the pretty flush that comes when Atsumu teases him, the determined gleam in his eye when he goes to receive a particularly nasty serve. He’s made a habit of cataloguing Sakusa’s expressions. He hates this one. 

“Well that’s an easy fix Omi-Omi. Ya got the most handsome—” he holds up a hand “—I don’t want to hear it, man to escort ya.” He marches towards the convenience store and holds the door open. Sakusa enters wordlessly. 

The interior of the family owned market is nothing special. The same 50 yen candy dispensers have been there since he and Osamu were kids. Behind the counter is a bored looking teenager who doesn’t even look up from her phone when they enter. 

“C’mon Omi let’s get ya somethin’ to drink”. Atsumu walks towards the back of the store where they keep the refrigerated drinks. In the corner of his eye he sees a little display of hand sanitizer and disinfectant wipes. He grabs one of each. 

He turns around to see where Sakusa has wandered off, only to find him a few steps behind.

He manages to look pretty even in the glaring fluorescent light of the convenience store. He still looks uncomfortable, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Atsumu realizes Sakusa doesn’t have a wallet on him.

“You know Omi they say I’m the whole package,” He's speaking now mostly to fill the silence between them. Atsumu talks enough for six people, it’s not a difficult task. “I’m good lookin’, good at volleyball, tall and I’m generous! I’ll treat ya seeing that we’re in my hometown, yer a guest. Plus I owe ya for the mix up at the coffee shop in Tokyo.” 

The little snort he hears behind him is becoming familiar and it encourages him to continue on the same path.

“We’ll grab ya a little tea with no sweetener and no caffeine in it because I’m pretty sure if you drank somethin’ with actual flavour you might have some fun and we can’t have that.”

The second snort behind him makes the clawing feeling in his chest subside. Something warm blooming in its place. He grabs an energy drink for himself. He can feel the judgemental eyes boring holes into the back of his skull.

“Those things are going to kill you Miya. You’re an athlete don’t you take care of your health?”

“Well somebody has to make up for the sugar deficit you make Omi-Omi. I’m just tryin’ to restore balance to the universe,” he nods in faux sagacity. The annoyed eyebrow twitch he sees in Sakusa’s face makes the warmth in his chest spread towards his fingers. 

*

The air surrounding them finally feels mercifully cool. It takes quite a while to find a place for them to sit to that could be adequately sanitized. They end up at the old park he and Osamu had played at as kids. When scraped knees and bruised elbows had been more common than not. 

Atsumu hands Sakusa the pack of sanitizing wipes wordlessly and watches as Sakusa uses the entire pack to wipe down the park bench. He fights the urge to roll his eyes but he remains silent throughout the process. 

They sit at opposite ends of the bench facing each other. Their phones and drinks sit between them on the bench. Condensation rolls down the sides of the cans forming a puddle on the bench. The breeze makes the old swing set behind them swing back and forth gently.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods Omi-Omi?” asks Atsumu in an attempt to start the conversation.

Sakusa is silent for a moment, clearly weighing his options, carefully choosing his words, methodical and thorough in everything he does.

“My sister and her family live here. I’m visiting them before the fall school term starts,” he says, tone neutral.

There’s something more here and Atsumu knows he shouldn’t pry. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t plow forwards anyways.

“And what brings ya here at—” he checks his phone “—2 in the mornin’ with no shoes?”

The silence stretches between them but it doesn’t feel oppressive. For once Atsumu doesn’t feel the need to fill it with unnecessary noise just to make it stop. He waits patiently for a response.

“My sister and I had a,” he pauses, weighing his words “—disagreement about what I’m going to do after graduation so I left.” He looks at Atsumu who doesn’t say anything. Sakusa must take this as a sign that it’s okay to continue.

“My parents would prefer I go to university, it’s the responsible thing to do. My sister thinks I should go pro like Motoya is planning to after graduation.” He pauses for a moment, musing mostly to himself. “I came here to visit her so I wouldn’t have to think about it for a while but my sister had other plans.”

The trees rustle quietly in the background, Sakusa has his head to the side, only his profile visible to Atsumu. Here in Hyogo, under the yellow glare of the street lamp, eyelashes so long they rest on his cheeks, Atsumu thinks he looks beautiful. 

“Well, what do you want to do Omi-Omi?”

Sakusa turns to face him at this, head turning so fast he might give himself whiplash. His eyes widen and an unfamiliar expression crosses his face. He throws his head back and that odd strangled noise comes from his chest. He laughs.

The column of his throat is long and exposed with his head back. His shoulders shake with mirth. Atsumu has the brief urge to touch his fingers to that long column and feel how soft the skin is, touch his fingers to the hollows where Sakusa’s neck connects with his collarbones. To share the warmth blooming golden in his chest and watch it bleed into Sakusa’s skin. 

Sakusa shakes his head and reaches towards Atsumu and Atsumu’s heart skips a beat. Sakusa reaches down and grabs the bottle of green tea that sits between them. He takes a sip and his nose wrinkles cutely, clearly unhappy with the flavour. 

“You know what Miya? No one’s ever asked. I don’t think I’ve even considered it myself,” he turns aways for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “This tastes like shit by the way.”

“I’m surprised ya didn’t wipe down the bottle before drinkin’ it Omi,” snips Atsumu, unable to control his tongue.

“I usually have it under control,” scowls Sakusa. 

“Is the thing ya usually have under control mysophobia?” he asks, blunt as ever.

He knows exactly what mysophobia is. He’d spent the better part of his journey home from the youth camp researching germ aversion. He’d wanted to know what drove the wing spiker to dodge every high five offered but slam that same hand down against a volleyball to spike. His beautiful form snapping with power, bringing the ball home every time. 

Sakusa wrinkles his nose again. “Yes.” he says. “It used to be worse when I was young. But I’ve been playing volleyball longer than I’ve had it. Volleyball’s the only thing that makes me feel like it's worth the risk.”

Atsumu hums in agreement. He is well acquainted with the feeling of volleyball being the reason to live and breathe, the reason to get up in the morning. Nothing else mattered as long as he could play.

They lapse into amicable silence again. Atsumu cracks open his energy drink and the noise feels loud, like a gunshot in the sleepy early morning silence. Sakusa shoots him a dirty look. Atsumu grins unrepentant. They enjoy their drinks quietly. 

It’s Atsumu who breaks the silence first. 

“Ya know Omi, I can’t tell ya what to do either. I know I wanna go pro after high school because I can’t picture myself doing anythin' else.” He grins, his expression filled with boyish mischief “Me and ‘Samu are gonna take over the world just you wait.” 

His expression shifts to something more sheepish “Also because Kita-san mighta been the only reason I remembered to pay attention in class so my grades aren’t anythin’ special. Yer top 3 in the nation and ya don’t seem stupid, you’ll do fine at whatever one ya choose. Ya just gotta choose the one you want. Not what yer parents or yer sister or anyone else wants.”

“I don’t want to disappoint them,” Sakusa quietly “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“ _Supposed to_ is a phrase for scrubs,” Atsumu scoffs, abrasive as ever. “The only thing yer supposed to do is what you want. Everythin’ else is for cowards.” He raises an eyebrow at Sakusa as if challenging him.

Sakusa smiles ruefully in response. No barbs to counter Atsumu’s unexpectedly helpful response this time.

“Now give me your phone Omi-Omi,” he says holding out his hand expectantly. 

Sakusa shoots him a glare and says nothing. 

“C’mon Omi! I’ve never heard ya speak this much before, you know what that means right?” he asks, boyish expression back in place. “We’re _friends_ now,” he says emphasizing the words.

“Friends,” repeats Sakusa carefully, testing the word out on his tongue. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes and makes an exaggerated show of sanitizing his hands and holds out his hand again.

Demanding as always, he waits for the phone. He’s perfectly capable of taking the phone from the bench himself but he wants Sakusa to want to. He chooses not to dwell on that thought. 

Sakusa sighs and gives in. He plucks the phone off the bench, dropping it in Atsumu’s waiting hands.

“Unlock it please Omi.”

“Wow, please Miya? I thought basic manners were beyond you.”

“I’m not gettin’ any younger here Omi.”

Atsumu opens up the messages app and texts himself. He quickly locates the familiar logo of Instagram and follows himself there too. 

“There now we’re officially friends”

Sakusa rolls his eyes “I didn’t know it wasn’t official until we were on Instagram. What kind of handle is “ _bettermiya_ ”?”

“The best kind Omi-Omi! Better than “ _sakusa.kiyoomi_ ”! Where’s the originality?”

“You’re a twin Miya. You don’t have an ounce of originality in your body.”

*

**To: Omi Omi**

_2:36 am_

ill see u at nationals omi omi don’t lose before we play ;)

**From: Omi Omi**

_3:46 am_

Stop calling me that. God, I wish I was older than you.

**To: Omi**

_3:47 am_

then u could be my senpai thats hot 

_[you can no longer send messages to this number]_

**DM sent to: sakusa.kiyoomi**

_3:48 am_

UNBLOCK MY NUMBER OMI OMI IM SORRY

**DM from sakusa.kiyoomi**

_4:01 am_

read at 4:01 am 

**DM sent to: sakusa.kiyoomi**

_4:02 am_

DID U JSUT SEND ME A READ RECEIPT???? 

*

They don’t text. Neither of them particularly inclined to use the medium of communication. They are 17 year old boys and while they may have Instagram, posting on it is a rarity. 

Soon, Sakusa’s number sits long forgotten on his phone. Between school and Nationals preparations he can barely keep his eyes open on the drive to school. That one summer night begins to fade in his memory, feeling more like a surreal, hazy dream than reality. 

The imprint of Sakusa’s pretty lashes on the inside of his eyelids gets lost as he replaces them with lists of every opposing teams’ weaknesses. 

***

Atsumu is used to being called melodramatic.

 _Every molehill is a mountain with him, nothing can ever be simple_ , complain his teammates.

He can’t even begin to count the number of times his parents have rolled their eyes while he whines loudly he can’t go on anymore because Osamu ate the last pudding cup.

But this time, this time, he knows his reaction is warranted.

His whole world is crumbling and the only person who he wants to talk to is the one who’s changing it forever.

Inarizaki had been one match away from winning Nationals.

He and Osamu were set to win it all. But in the final set the blockers had read his set up. He’d sent the toss with all the precision he’d honed after years of hard work. His twin waiting faithfully at the wings of the net.

All three blockers had been prepared for the toss. The ball slammed back down to their side of the court with a resounding thud.

His chest tightens at the memory, breathing turning watery.

The last toss he’d ever make to Osamu.

The events that followed their loss are a blur. He remembers the coach congratulating them for being top 2 in the nation. Kita-san had come out to watch the game, pride in his eyes for his old team. 

The memory of his conversation with Osamu that follows makes bile rise in his throat again.

He’d been sure Osamu would change his mind after he felt the rush of competing together again. He’d been sure if they could reign champions at Nationals the hollow feeling in his chest would finally subside.

He’d failed to win the tournament. He was still entering the professional leagues alone. 

He knows he should be cringing over the screaming match they’d had, right on centre court. He knows as the captain and vice captain of the team they should've shown more restraint. 

He waits for the wash of shame to flood his body. All that he finds is the dull ache of numbness. 

Alone, in a quiet corridor, knees drawn up to his chest, he feels lost.

No matter how many of his teammates had hated him, how many friends had grown tired of his cruel words, he’d always had Osamu.

He draws in another shuddery breath trying to decide if they’re growing in different directions or if he’s being left behind. The only way to tell is once it’s too late. This is the thought that scares him most of all.

The awards ceremony isn’t for another hour and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

A voice at the end of the dark corridor interrupts his stewing “Oh sorry I was looking for a washroom… Miya?”

Atsumu squints try to make out the shape at the end of the dimly lit corridor. His eyes burn in protest and his voice is hoarse from disuse “Omi-Omi?”

Even 10 meters away, he catches the eye twitch that gives away Sakusa’s annoyance over the nickname. Sakusa walks toward him and Atsumu’s burn slightly as the bright mass of clothing enters his field of view. 

“Omi would it kill ya to wear somethin’ that didn’t look like ya like went for a swim in radioactive waste for once?"

Sakusa is dressed in his violently banana coloured tracksuit, but Atsumu cannot rip his eyes from the neon orange reusable face mask that is covering the bottom half of Sakusa’s face.

“Why is it always you I run into? My niece made this mask for me” he hisses “it’s a good luck charm”. 

Atsumu feels something warm claw at his chest. “Omi-Omi ya sentimental nut job, that’s so precious” he coos instead.

Sakusa glares at him. Atsumu’s face splits into what feels like his first grin in months. 

Sakusa stops a few steps in front of him but remains standing. Atsumu cranes his neck to meet his eyes.

Sakusa doesn’t ask him what’s wrong. He stands waiting quietly for Atsumu to offer the information himself. Neither of them are the type to meet halfway, but today Atsumu caves first.

“‘Samu is quitting volleyball.” 

Sakusa is quiet for a moment. Atsumu wishes not for the first time that Sakusa was easier to read.

“I’d heard rumours that he was quitting last year but I assumed they were just rumours. He’s a talented player. I’m disappointed to hear we won’t be able to face off in the future.”

“Omi if ya think ‘Samu’s talented then you must think the world of me cause I’m twice as talented as that rat bastard.” 

Sakusa shoots him a glare before pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Miya, your school just place second in the nation with you as captain. Fishing for compliments is just narcissistic at this point.”

“Call me Atsumu.” He’s not sure why he says it. “‘Samu is Miya too, it’s just easier,” he says quickly.

Sakusa gives him a funny look. “You’re the most talented setter I hope I never have the misfortune of playing with again Atsumu.”

“Why don’t ya wanna be one of my spikers Omi?” he explodes “Ya should count yerself lucky if ya ever had me as yer setter. I take care of my spikers!” 

Sakusa snorts “I don’t want to find out what kind of team has space for your ego.”

They’re both silent for a minute. Unsure what to say, but the silence doesn't feel uncomfortable.

Sakusa surprisingly, is the first to break the silence. 

“Your brother is just doing what he wants for himself isn’t he? What he thinks will make him happiest” says Sakusa, echoing Atsumu’s sentiments from that hazy summer night.

He knows this is true. He's happy Osamu is doing what he thinks will make him happiest. His chest still tightens.

“I don’t know why I thought he’d ever change his mind about quittin’. Bastard’s more stubborn than I am” he sighs. “I dunno what team I wanna play for yet but Div 1 ain’t ready for me without ‘Samu vibe checkin’ me every day that's for sure. I'm gonna be that happiest one there is and rub it in that rat bastard's face 'till the day we die.”

“I'm sure the Volleyball League Association PR team is breathing a sigh of relief there's only one of you they have to deal with.” 

Atsumu sniffs disdainfully at this, always one for dramatics and changes the subject.

“What did you end up deciding on Omi?”

“Waseda offered me a scholarship. I’m going to play in the college circuit first.”

“Didn’t get any pro offers did ya Omi?” Atsumu taunts, flashing a grin.

“I got a few, I almost signed with Motoya’s team, '' says Sakusa, ignoring the obvious bait. “It just felt right,” he says simply. 

“I guess I’ll see ya on the professional circuit in 4 years then... If ya can make it Omi-Omi” taunts Atsumu. “Try not to let that gloomy raincloud that follows you everywhere ya go melt ya in the meantime.”

“I’ll treasure everyday I’m given the reprieve of playing in a different league than you Miya.”

“I told ya to call me Atsumu” he whines.

The weight in his chest is lighter than it’s been in months. 

**Author's Note:**

> i know i switch styles every 45 seconds im sorry... consistency? idk her! 
> 
> Yes atsumu is supposed to be a jerk still, its his high school self and I believe he'd still be a little casually cruel and oblivious to his own emotions pre time skip.
> 
> I'm on twitter but self conscious of my writing so I will not be dropping that. Thank you for making it to the end! Second chapter is already written I'm just editing. I would love to hear your thoughts :)


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